Reunion

One hour passed in a flash, and I was already a mere twenty miles from Ellensburg. The clouds below me only grew taller as I paced along at eleven thousand feet. As I began descending, I took another look at the weather for Ellensburg, and at the instructions for the instrument approach I was attempting. The cloud bases at the airport were reported to be at a thousand feet above the ground with an underlying fog that restricted visibility to a mere mile and a half. The difference between the clouds at the airport and the minimum weather conditions allowed by the approach instructions were not great. I was afforded only a half a mile more visibility than what was considered by the government as too dangerous to attempt. However, the growing excitement of my adventure with Addison was driving me, and I didn't want to disappoint her by telling her I wasn't going to make it, that I had to fly to the south and delay our meeting. On top of that, I had never been forced to abandon an approach before, outside of training, and I wanted to keep my pride intact. The prospect of having to pay for a thirty minute taxi didn't exactly excite me either. I took a step back mentally, and though about how meaningless these pressures were in the grand scheme of things. All things considered, deciding to push the approach would be reckless and immature.

But the calm facade I had built for myself shattered when a text message popped up on my iPad. Hovering above the approach instructions I had pulled up: *Be wise, turn around.* There was no contact for the message, just the phone number with the area code 970. I pondered at the message, wondering who it was that sent it to me, did they know about the journey I was planning to embark on, were they aware of Addison's interest in the supernatural, did they know I was about to shoot the sketchiest approach I had ever conducted in my entire life? My immature, macho-filled thoughts wrought against my inhibitions again. Who was this person ,what did they know, and what do they not want me to know?

I wasn't having it. I descended to five thousand feet above sea level, putting me deeply in the cloud deck that hung above the airport. Dark grey masses constricted my windows from all sides, but I remained fixated the little needle on my control cockpit panel telling me where to go. My mind swam at my situation, at what I had to prepare to do next to land the plane, and about that mysterious text I had received. I pulled the engine power back and advanced the propeller to provide more rpm and less drag. I slowed, and hardly heard the regional controller handing me off to airport communications. I wished the controller well, and swapped to the airport's radio frequency.

The field was not towered, leaving pilots to work out with each other how to handle who gets to land and when. I was relieved to hear no one respond to my radio call. I was the only plane in the immediate area. I passed abeam the navigational aid that was going to guide me into the airport, prompting me to start a gradual left turn. Another text message slid down from the top of my iPad's screen, same area code: *It seems as though you are not convinced, check your weather.* The weather station at the airport was self updating, providing new information any time anything changed over the field. I tuned into the weather broadcasting frequency. A robotic voice reported that clouds were now 700 feet over the field, and the fog had thickened to now allowing only one mile of visibility. The weather was pressed right upon the limits of what the approach was able to provide safely. I grimaced at the message. Who was this clown? How did he know about me? How did he know about the weather? Does he even know what an instrument approach is? My teeth pressed tightly together. I wasn't letting this guy dissuade me. I joined the prescribed approach course, and began a gradual decent. Like clockwork, my plane slowed, I extended the flaps and the landing gear, and I began a 700 foot per minute decent to the minimum altitude I was allowed to travel to. In my lap, messages began to appear one after another: *It's not worth it* *She wouldn't want to see you dead either* *TURN BACK.* I threw the iPad into the passenger seat, and listened to the weather observation. Clouds were now 600 feet over the field and visibility was restricted to three quarters of a mile. The weather was now more constricting then what was allowed by the approach.

But I wasn't going to let whoever this was decide my fate. He had to know about Addison's documentary. Hell, he may have been using magic to screw with my approach. I shook my head, and pressed on, plane plummeting blindly though the grey soup, guided only by one little line telling it to go further to the left or further to the right. The weather cycled, 500 feet over the field, a half a mile of visibility. I let the plane fall to three hundred feet over the ground, well below what was legally sanctioned. I pulled the plane level, chopped the engine to idle, let the plane slow down even more, and deployed every little bit of equipment that would give my plane more drag. I pushed the power back in to hold a shallow 150 foot per minute decent. I searched desperately for runway lights. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and that this kind of reckless flying had gotten many pilots before me killed. I steeled myself, and pushed my plane further down. The dark ground revealed itself, and pushed up toward my plane. I frantically scanned all my windows for lights that would guide me to port. I began putting power back in, the engine began howling, and at that moment, a series of familiar white and red lights peered at me from the mist to my right side. I put my plane in a ludicrous forty degree bank to align myself with the runway. I got carried away, and the stall horn started to chirp. I added power and I rolled out of my turn, giving me undue energy. I glanced at my airspeed indicator, I was much too fast to land. I was only one hundred feet above the ground. I had to act fast, and because I had gotten deep into this mess, I had to act rash. I looked over at my flap handle. I had deployed the flaps to slow me down while descending, but they also boosted the amount of lift I was getting. I retracted them, and shortly later the plane began falling like a rock. I pulled back on the yoke stiffly not realizing how far I had gotten down the runway. The rear two wheels slammed down on the pavement and bounced slightly. I flared the plane so the nose was pointing toward the grey abyss to create as much drag as possible. As the nose lowered naturally, I found the runway threshold lights rushing towards me at great speed. I slammed the brakes, sending the nose wheel hard into the ground. The brakes locked up, and with an ear piercing sequel, the tires ground the plane to a halt a mere ten feet from the end of the runway.

I sank back in my seat with an enormous sigh. I cupped my head in my hands and calmed myself down. I was embarrassed at myself, and I could feel the dry warmth of rage well up in my throat. I snapped myself out of it, thinking to myself that I would never do something so stupid ever again. I threw the throttle forward and pressed down hard on the left brake pedal. The plane swung itself around and taxied back to the airport terminal situated on the south end of the field.

I walked though the ramp-facing doors of the terminal to find a carpeted Central Washington University themed relaxation area. Only one person was present in the seating area directly in front of me. The man was old, maybe late sixties, and was definitely of some southern native american heritage. He was staring at me, almost like he was staring into me. he was *reading* me.

I pulled out my phone and quickly typed in *970 area code* as I made for the opposite side of the room, where the manager's office was located. My search yielded a map of Colorado. I tapped it, and zoomed in. The area code encompassed the entirety of the north and west facing borders of Colorado. I moved slowly, transferring my gaze between my phone and the man starring at me from across the room. I looked towards the southern portion of the map. *Southern Ute Reservation.* I looked back up inquisitively at the man, who met my gaze and nodded. I almost dropped my phone. It was as though we had an entire conversation without words. I pocketed my phone and approached him. "You took a great risk coming here," he said in in the same way a parent scolds their child. "You might be strong enough to take on what you and your little friend are facing, but I don't think you are nearly mature enough." I stared at him blankly. I didn't know what to say to him. Did he mean to tell me that there's danger on the path that Addison and I had laid before us? "Aye, and you're not ready, you don't know much at all about what you're about to dig up. There's a reason it's stayed a secret for so long. You're gonna push and push and at the end o' the day, you're gonna be another missing person story." I paced towards the man slowly, I was about to open my mouth to question what he was saying. "Aye, you're not gonna stop, you've made it this far. Maybe there's hope for ye' yet. Durango, Colorado." upon the man saying this to me, my senses dulled momentarily. As I came to, the man was gone.

"Sir, is everything alright?" a female voice called to me from my left. I looked over to see the airport manager. "You were just staring blankly, you need some water?"

"Yes please, I'm good though, it was just a long flight." I responded, matching her calm demeanor.

Ten minutes later, I had the keys to a Ford Crown Victoria. The car had once served as a police car, but now serves as a free-of-charge courtesy car to get pilots around town for the day. I took the car to a small cafe on the north side of the campus that Addison and I had agreed to meet at. I waited in a booth for about ten minutes until she came through the door. It was odd how little she changed, she was a tall girl of pale complexion, light shoulder length hair, and walked in the cafe with a familiar upbeat demeanor. As she came over I stood and we shared a brief hug. She smirked as she sat in the booth opposite me, "God, two years and you don't look a year older from when I last saw you." I smiled, it was the first time I felt any semblance of warmth since my disastrous landing and my eerie meeting with the old man.

"Yeah, and you look as spry as ever."

"I've been doing my best. I am so excited for this though, this is going to be awesome!"

"Yeah, about that-" I attempted to interject.

"So how's the weather looking for our flight down to Navajo Nation, captain?"

"Here's the thing, have you met any Ute Indians recently?" my tone was serious, but it didn't break her cheerful disposition.

"I spoke to one online actually, he was all serious though, didn't want to talk much, but like I've said to you before, I want to go down to the Navajo Nation, I actually have a contact who's wi-"

"I met one on my way in, he knew what we're doing." she sat silent at my remark. The fascination in her eyes broke a little. "He told me to take us to Durango, Colorado. Then he-" I paused, "he just vanished into thin air. Addison, I'm not sure if we fully comprehend what we're getting ourselves into." Addison pondered to herself.

"Well change of plans then, we go to Colorado first."

"That's it?"

"Yep, clearly the man has something to say to us. Besides, he might have some insight into his culture that he would be willing to share." It was hard to stay grumpy around her radiant confidence. I smiled, and thought to hell with it. The fact that what we may have been plunging ourselves into was otherworldly in nature fell softly on me. The thought of discovering something untouched by the rest of the world was fascinating to me. My eyes met back with hers.

"It'll be an adventure, then."